Filed to story: Falling for My Ex's Mafia Dad Novel Free PDF (Fay Alden & Kent Lippert)
I see him open his mouth to speak, but before he can his eye falls on the engagement ring on my left hand. Quickly, he moves to unlink my hands and pull it off my ring finger, slipping it into his pocket.
Without thinking, I feel a retort coming to my lips.
“What, Kent,” I say, my voice soft. “Can’t beat me with your wife’s ring on my hand? Something feel wrong about that?”
Even I’m shocked at the words that just came out of my mouth. Jesus Christ, who am I?
I see him flinch just barely but then he raises his eyes to mine, his face perfectly calm. “That’s enough, Fay,” he says. “I’ll be asking the questions.”
He folds his arms and I hold his gaze, not moving an inch.
“What was that note,” he asks, his words quick.
“I don’t know,” I say, matching his pace.
“Then why,” he pushes, his voice harder, “was it in your room.”
“Because Fiona gave it to me.”
He presses his hands to the table. “Then you do know what it is.”
I narrow my eye at him. “I know what it is as far as I know that it’s a piece of paper with bad poetry written on it, sure,” I say. Again, I surprise myself with my attitude and confidence it by no means matches what I feel inside. “But as for what it means, or what it’s for, I don’t know.”
“What,” he says, bringing his face closer to mine, “did she tell you to do with it?”
I lower my voice almost to a whisper, forcing him to lean closer. “She told me to give it to Alden.”
I see Kent’s lips curl back from his teeth at that. But before he can ask another question, I continue.
“But obviously, since it was still in my room,” I whisper, lowering my eyes to his lips as I speak. “I didn’t.”
I hear a low rumble of dissatisfaction in Kent’s chest as he pushes away from the table, turning his back to me, clearly thinking this through.
I stay where I am, leaning my weight onto my elbows and forearms, watching him, my hair spilling around my face. I shake my head, trying to push it back, but it doesn’t work.
“Why,” Kent says, over his shoulder. “Why didn’t you give it to Alden.”
“Because,” I say, my voice deadpan. “I don’t know which of you to trust. I’m still deciding.”
He whirls on me then. “After all I’ve done for you, Fay everything I’ve given you ”
“Oh!” I say, laughing up into his face now, shaking my manacled hands. “Yes, thanks so much, Kent you’ve been a real angel to me these past few weeks I just feel so cared for when I’m being chained to a table in your basement -“
This sets him off.
I can’t help myself from smiling, a little, as he storms to the right, coming around the table. I try to turn, to watch him, but he’s too fast
Kent grabs me by the back of my neck, pushing me down so that my chest is flat on the table, my cheek likewise touching the cold surface. Again, he’s controlled enough to ensure that I don’t slam my head on the metal surface, but I can hear his breath coming fast now, his chest heaving
“God damnit, Fay,” he says, “I could make this so much worse for you you’re treated like a damn princess in this house ”
“Don’t you get it, Kent?” I say in response. “I know that you only treat me well because if it got back to Alden that you weren’t, that he’d move to take me from you. And you like having me here in this house. Like having me as your little pawn, to hold as a threat against him.”
Kent pauses for a moment, and then I gasp and wince as he pushes on my neck harder, my face pressing hard against the metal.
But then, to my surprise, he releases me.
I take a deep breath as I feel the pressure lessen on my neck, feel him take his hand away. I hear him move back a few steps, starting to pace behind me.
“This, Kent,” I say, panting a little, stretching my neck to soothe the ache there. “This is why I kept the note, taped it behind my desk, instead of giving it to you straight away. I kept it because I know that this lurks around every corner you treating me like an animal.”
“Maybe,” I continue, my voice cold, “if you gave me the respect I deserve to begin with, I would have given you my allegiance from the start given you the note, instead of keeping it as leverage in case I needed it.”
I hear silence behind me as Kent stops pacing. For a minute, all I can hear is the sound of my breathing.
Then, I hear three slow steps as Kent comes up behind me.
I feel him there, the warmth of him behind me, as he slides one hand over my ribs and the other over my shoulder and collar bone to wrap around my throat, pulling me upwards as far as I can go, until my arms go taught against my chains.
“And I told you, darling Fay,” he says, his quiet voice itself a threat, “that respect in this house is earned, not given. So, let’s see if we can teach you a little lesson.”
He lowers himself so that I can feel his taught stomach against my lower back, his voice close to my ear now. “A little lesson,” he whispers, “about respect.”
Kent moves around the table, and to my surprise, he takes a key out of his pocket and slides it under the metal table. A mechanism snaps, and I feel a sudden give to my handcuffs as they are released from the table.
Before I can pull away, Kent grabs the chain between the cuffs, taking control of my actions. He says nothing as he starts moving towards the center of the room, pulling me roughly along with him. When we reach a spot where a short chain is bolted to the floor, with an open padlock at the end, Kent stops.
He slowly brings my manacled hands close to his face, my body pulled close to his. “On your knees, Fay,” he says, firm..
My mouth hangs open in disbelief. Why? I try to speak, to question his demand.
“I said,” he says, his brows knitting cruelly together. “On your knees.”
Slowly, my earlier courage abandons me, and I begin to sink to my knees as Kent lowers his hand to allow me to do so. I find myself resting there, my knees on the cold cement floor, my arms stretched above my head, looking up at him with wide eyes.
Kent lowers one knee to the ground, maintaining eye contact with me. Then, slowly, he raises the chain from the ground, wrapping it around the links of my handcuffs and sliding the padlock closed, creating a perfect circle. I look down, realizing that I am once again contained, trapped, and at his mercy.
I gaze up at him as he stands tall.
“In this world, Fay,” Kent says, his voice even and low, “you don’t survive if you let people walk all over you. My father tried that tried to maintain this family’s power by being kind, and fair, and logical.”
Kent slides his hands into his pockets, his most controlled position, and bends at the waist, bringing his face close to mine. “He was dead by the time I was eight.”
My mouth falls open slightly, and I watch as his hands clench into fists in his pockets. “So when you tell me,” he continues, slowly circling me, “to trust you, to treat you as someone I trust, without having earned it…”
I turn my head to watch him, but my movement is limited, my neck reaching its breaking point.
“You’re asking me, then, Fay,” he says, taking another step, “to act like a fool.”
I try to turn further, but the handcuffs won’t let me. I stare forward, my heartbeat and breath quickening. I can’t see him, don’t know where he is. I listen intently, needing to know. Startled, I jump when I hear his voice very close to my ear.